Attack of the Enormous Feline

Last night, in the middle of emptying the paltry contents of our fridge into a frying pan and calling it a meal, my husband and I heard something outside. It was a distant, mournful meow. We ignored it, too busy haphazardly rooting about in our barren cupboards, determining what exactly we could mix with egg whites in order to fashion something resembling dinner.

In the midst of chopping our remaining clove of disturbingly mutated garlic, I heard it again - closer this time, and approaching rapidly. The cry grew louder and increasingly plaintive until I realized that it was coming from our porch. Being a cat person, I squealed eagerly, flung open the door, and in wandered the most tremendously obese feline I have ever seen. My extremely allergic husband backed quickly away, looking at me like I'd just thrown our newborn in the river. In a rare moment of rational thought, I realized oh shit...if this creature proves unfriendly, it can kick both our asses. Eager to make peace, I babbled and baby-talked at the cat, inquiring as to where he was from and whether he would like something to eat. Fatty totally ignored me, proceeding instead to waddle straight for our bedroom as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. He moved at breakneck speed for a 400 pound cat, yet I managed to intervene just before he made contact with my husband's pillow. Cooing apologetically, I then hoisted his massive carcass over my shoulder, and, knees buckling under the strain of his tremendous bulk, chucked him once again onto the porch.

Corpulent Cat continued to wail right outside our window for the next hour, continuing straight through our dinner and leading me to believe that all the fat bastard really wanted was a taste of our soy meat egg scramble. Perhaps he's dieting.

Later, doing the dishes and murmuring reassuring things and false promises out the window in the direction of the screeching porch-dweller, I suddenly heard human-variety scuffling, followed by the triumphant yells of our neighbor. Upon opening the door I learned that Fatty was actually Oliver, a house cat who had made a break for it earlier that night. Evidently he got as far as our balcony, got hungry, and was bitching at us for not providing snacks for his vacation.

I want a cat. I promise I would feed it better than I feed my husband.